


Back to a Reason

by erelis



Series: Seasonal Shorts [5]
Category: Venom (Comics)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Other, slight liberties with the timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17205962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erelis/pseuds/erelis
Summary: With nothing left and no reason to stay in New York, Eddie goes back to San Francisco. It isn't a happy homecoming and this Christmas is shaping up to be his worst.





	Back to a Reason

**Author's Note:**

> As much as it pains me to do it, I'm taking some liberties with the comic timeline. This story is set during issue #9 of the current run, after Eddie's encounter with his father.

He wakes with spatters of blood on his hands and the dried crust of it on his lips, body aching from worse than a night spent lying on unforgiving asphalt with precious little to ward off the December cold. As he begins the laborious process of sitting up, the air he inhales on his next breath catches in his lungs. Coughing, he slumps back down, his meager strength ebbing already, and curls inward until the constriction passes and he can breathe again. The metallic tang of fresh blood is thick on his tongue and down the back of his throat, making his empty stomach twist uncomfortably with a noxious mixture of nausea and fear.

_Should've figured I'd end up back here_ , he thinks bitterly, carefully clearing his throat and rolling sideways to spit the blood out onto the ground. _Always knew there was only one way this was ever going to end._

The movement jostles his shadow out of its dormant pseudo-sleep. It lifts its head from its paws and looks back at him as he struggles upright for the second time, trying not to breathe too deeply and set off another round coughing. He can feel the weight of its hollow stare, alert and present yet eerily— _painfully—_ empty, but he avoids its eyes. Cowardice or a futile attempt at self-preservation, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t examine it to find out.

Since it took that form, he's spent so many hours searching its bleak, emotionless stare, desperate to find even the tiniest glimmer of hope. But by now, having traveled nearly three thousand miles from the life he's lost only to end up right back where he started, he just can't do it anymore. It hurts too damn much to keep looking for what he knows he isn't going to find in his shadow's blank eyes.

Yet no matter how strong the hurt, it can't prevent him from blindly seeking to maintain a connection. He rests his hand against its back and absently runs his blood-stained fingertips over the ridge of the spine it created for itself. The canine muzzle swings around to face him, but he lifts his eyes and looks out across the dingy, garbage-filled alley instead.

Light filters down between the buildings from a cloudless sky. Eddie can't see the sun where he’s sitting, probably couldn't accurately estimate the time even if he could, but he knows that it's still morning. Though judging by the quality of the light, it's well enough past dawn that the hustle and bustle of the city will have begun in earnest.

"Come on," he whispers, voice hoarse from dehydration and prolonged coughing. It's a foolish waste of breath, his shadow doesn't care what he has to say, but it's an old habit, too deeply ingrained to stop now. "Let's go try to find something to eat."

He gets to his feet, shaky from inadequate nutrition and the stiffness that sleeping rough brings. His back aches. Dizziness momentarily darkens his vision. His shadow leans against his leg, shoring him up until he regains his equilibrium. The moment passes. Eddie takes a slow, careful breath and gently exhales. _Please don't let me hurt anyone else._

That too is a habit, the tattered remnants of a faith he hasn't been able to shed clinging to him even in the midst of the ruin that’s been made of his life. He doesn’t expect God to save him. A sinner like him, as much a cancer to the living as the illness is that’s consuming him one cell at a time, doesn’t deserve to be saved. But innocents still call this city home. He cannot bear to think that he might be the cause of any more suffering.

Leaving the alley is a gamble. In his heart, Eddie knows that he shouldn’t take it, knows that he ought to sit back down, shielded from the street by the dumpster, and wait until the hunger fades. He’s dying anyway. Food isn’t going to halt the cancer’s rampage through his body. Not eating, though, that might save an innocent person’s life. Because going out among them is dangerous. _He’s_ dangerous. His uncontrollable shadow even more so.

But Eddie’s always been weak, despite how hard he strives to be strong. His selflessness inevitably chips away to reveal the selfishness underneath. Hunger is an ugly, persistent ache in his gut, twisting it into knots. And although he’s been waiting for it to melt indistinguishably into the unpleasant cocktail of aches and pains already assailing him, it hasn’t.

Unfortunately for the public, the last vestige of his self-preservation wins out.

He makes his way to the mouth of the alley slowly, easing the stiffness from his joints. His shadow moves to the end of the makeshift leash, leading the way, but when they step out onto the sidewalk, it comes back to his side and stays there, matching him step for step. Guarding him, Eddie knows, yet that knowledge brings no comfort or surcease of his grief. Instinct, not intent, rules his shadow now.

With no destination in mind, he glances up and down the street before turning right, choosing the direction with the least amount of visible pedestrians. It’s been years since he lived in San Francisco and although much of it remains familiar, things have still changed. He doesn’t know where to go. He has even less idea where he _should_ go. With the city’s homeless crisis vastly outpacing the resources available to combat it, he’s aware that there may not be anywhere that can accommodate him. Not even for something as simple as a quick as a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Not even on Christmas Eve.

Eddie hasn’t been actively conscious of the date. There’s been too much going on and far too much on his mind. Time has trundled on without him, days bleeding together in a swirl of faded, colorless impressions that aren’t worth the bother of remembering. And when he does learn of it—in the decorations that adorn the facades of buildings, in the clothes he sees people wearing, in the music that pours out of open doors—he doesn’t feel any particular nostalgic fondness over it. Joyous childhood memories of the season belong to other people and much of his adult life has been preoccupied with more immediate concerns.

Now, it doesn’t matter to him at all. His family, his _real_ family, is gone and he’s been excised from the remains of the one he’d been born with.

Practically, however, it brings with it a few complications. More people on the street. More children. More haste and revelry leading to more inattention.

He gives each person he passes as wide a berth as he can without being suspicious. His shadow sticks to his side, barely reacts to the people they encounter, but he’s careful to place himself between it and the others. The image of that wrecked car is still fresh in his mind, the scent of burning metal and gasoline still lingers in his nose. He can’t be the cause of further misery.

Clutching the collar of his jacket around his throat in an attempt to keep the chilly air at bay, Eddie glances at the signs they pass. Retailers. Businesses. Restaurants that waft the tantalizing smell of cooking meat into the air each time their doors open, so close yet out of his reach thanks to the uncrossable chasm that is his empty wallet. Eddie’s stomach clenches and growls every time it happens but he has not choice except to keep walking.

The silence in his mind is louder like this, more noticeable when there are other noises to emphasize the absence of the voice he— _longs for_ —no longer hears. He scrabbles for a distraction, desperate, and finds it in the bits of conversation he overhears as the foot traffic flows past him.

“—party starts at six and I told her we’d be there, so you’re going to have to figure it out,” one man says testily into his cell phone, shoulders hunched, his gait taking him quickly out of earshot.

Half a block away, two people emerge from a pharmacy: a woman carrying a number of shopping bags and a small boy.

“Can we, Mom?” the child is begging, tugging at one of her full hands. “Real quick?”

“I don’t know, Simon,” she replies, sounding harried and distant all at once, like her thoughts are being pulled in a dozen different directions. “I have to get the turkey in the oven.”

As they approach, Eddie shifts the leash to his other hand and sidesteps his shadow, placing it on the outer edge of the sidewalk. Neither the woman nor the child seems to notice.

“I just want to get the new game!” the child protests, tone sliding into a whine.

“We’ll go after Christmas,” his mother decides, her voice growing quieter as the distance between them grows. “If you still want it after you open all your gifts, then...”

Not everybody he passes sounds weary or frustrated. Dozens of children prattle excitedly about special desserts or piles of presents or the impending arrival of Santa. Adults smile at one another and make plans for drinks in lieu of parties or as an especially festive end to them. In incomplete snippets, Eddie hears about the lives of over a hundred strangers as he makes his way further north. Some have families. Some have only friends. Some are single parents. Some are grandparents with large numbers of grandkids. All seem to have some sort of plan for the evening. None seem to notice the man and his black, thick-chested dog silently passing them by.

Frequently, he has to stop and rest. His chest aches and even though he’s walking at a leisurely pace, the exertion is making him breathless. Park benches, granite steps and landscaped planters, a few times he even sits down right there on the sidewalk, tucked in against the side of a building. His shadow rests its head on his knees and he strokes its head with a deliberately empty, wanting to see affection and recognition in its actions and knowing that it isn’t capable of that anymore.

No one pays him any attention.

Unshaven, wearing worn jeans and a beat-up old jacket over an untucked threadbare t-shirt, he looks homeless enough to be invisible to the general public. If circumstances had been anything but what they are, the casual dismissal of his existence may have bothered him. Now, he’s grateful to escape notice. If no one sees him, no one can call the police on him or try to interact with him and accidentally provoke his shadow into attack.

Time passes. The sun slides closer and closer toward the horizon. The air grows cooler. The Christmas lights come on around windows and doorways. The streets begin to thin out of shoppers. Eddie can’t find a shelter handing out free meals that isn’t at capacity, though his travels take him past enough loose change, dropped and discarded on the ground, that he has precisely one dollar and twenty-six cents in his pocket. It isn’t enough to purchase anything capable of taking the edge off his hunger, but he thinks that if he scrounges around a little longer, maybe he’ll gather enough.

Sitting somewhere and asking for change isn’t an option. Not only does he not want to draw attention to himself, he doesn’t want to take money away from people that need it a lot more than he does. The way things are going, he’ll be dead soon. And there are plenty of other victims of homelessness who will benefit from the compassionate charity of others. They deserve it more than he does.

The sun is setting when he happens on a soup kitchen that isn’t packed to overflowing, but instead of going in immediately, he lingers on the sidewalk, chilled fingers restlessly twisting the leash. Memories of F.E.A.S.T. surface in his mind, reminding him how quickly everything can fall apart. One raised voice, one thrown tray, and a monster can destroy it all.

“Can’t bring him in there,” a low voice mutters at his side, bringing Eddie out of the past.

“Hm?” His hand tightens instinctively on the leash as he glances first at his shadow, whose ears are pricked, and then at the man standing a few feet away.

He’s obviously one of the regulars. His clothes are stained and dirty and he’s wearing more layers than Eddie. Long, somewhat tangled grey hair protrudes from the bottom of his brown knit hat, matching the unkempt beard. His skin is weathered and he looks to be a number of years older than Eddie. But his eyes are kind. Well-meaning.

“Your dog.” He nods toward Eddie’s shadow. “They don’t let animals inside. You’ll have to leave him out here.”

Dimly, he’s aware of his fingers automatically clenching around the leash. “Oh,” he says dumbly. “I didn’t know.”

The man points to the railing lining the stairs leading up to the building’s front door. “You can tie him up there. Seen others do it. Nobody minds.”

“I—” He tries to give the guy a polite smile and thinks it probably comes out too sickly to appear appropriately grateful for the information. “Thanks.”

Nodding, the man gives him a look that seems equal parts encouraging and understanding and continues on his way into the building. Eddie doesn’t budge, eyes drawn toward the warm light and welcoming sounds of the dinner taking place inside as the door opens. It swings shut behind the man a moment later, taking the warmth with him.

Slowly, Eddie’s gaze slides sideways, dipping by increments until he’s looking at his shadow. The dog’s face is turned upward, like it could understand the conversation and is seeking guidance from him about what to do. It isn’t. Eddie knows that it isn’t. But as he meets its eyes for the first time that day, he also knows that he won’t be doing as the man said.

_It’s too dangerous,_ he tells himself. _I don’t know what will happen if I do that._ Will it follow him and leave a trail of destruction in its wake? Will it break away and disappear into the city? Will someone take it, thinking that it’s an ordinary dog? There are too many variable, too many opportunities for it to lash out and hurt someone. _I can’t take the risk._

He means it enough that he almost convinces himself that that’s all it is. Enough to alleviate any traces of guilt that might accompany the realization that he’s not being as selfless as he really wishes that he was. But deep, _deep_ down, he knows that it’s more than altruism. It’s fear. Fear that his shadow will leave him for good.

Eddie heads back to the alley he’s staked out as his own. It’s too dark to find more change on the ground and even though he might be able to afford a tiny cup of coffee at one of the convenience stores, he’s no longer fooling himself. His wallet could be full of cash and he wouldn’t attempt to venture inside any of the establishments he’s passed today. And maybe subconsciously, he’s known that all along. Maybe this entire endeavor has been nothing but an exercise in futility, a last grasp at hope that has now been irrevocably laid to rest.

The symbiote he’s known for so many years is gone. His other, the one he loves most in this world or any other, is dead. And though what remains is little more than a ghost that has not yet ceased to haunt him, he won’t let it go. He’ll sacrifice everything he has left—comfort, security, his life—to hang on to it.

Starving is a small price to pay not to be alone.

The dumpster’s full when he returns, though the lid is mostly closed and masks the worst of the smell. Eddie walks past it without more than a cursory glance. A few feet away, two buildings of dissimilar architecture meet, forming a small corner. When he reaches it, he kicks a few bits of debris out of the way and sinks down wearily onto the asphalt. It’s cold through his jeans, but he ignores it. In a few minutes, he knows, his body heat will warm it up so that it doesn’t bother him. Eddie draws his knees up to his chest, folds his arms across them, and leans his forehead against them. His shadow sits down beside him, not quite touching but close enough that he can feel the weight of its presence there at his side.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, holds it, and slowly releases it. He’s tired. He’s sore. His feet hurt. His heart aches. And he feels hollow inside. Hollow and old and empty. So incredibly empty. He wishes it would just swallow him already. _Put me out of my misery._

He could do it himself, of course. God knows he’s tried killing himself enough times to be an old hat at it. He’s given some thought to hiking halfway across the Golden Gate Bridge and jumping off, has even worked out the best time to do it so that he doesn’t run into any of the suicide prevention volunteers that patrol it. He just isn’t sure that he’ll actually be successful; his shadow might heal his injuries before he succumbs to them. And while there are plenty of broken bottles laying around on the ground that he could use to slit his wrists, he’s done that enough times to know that no matter how isolated he thinks he is when he does it or what other measures he puts in place to finish the job, it takes too damn long. Someone always finds him before he bleeds out.

But worse than a well-meaning Good Samaritan trying to help and accidentally getting hurt in the process is the fact that he doesn’t know what will happen to his shadow. Will it die too? Will it be lost and alone in the world? Will someone find it and exploit it? He doesn’t know, and because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t act.

He’s ready. He wants his suffering to stop. But he can’t abandon his shadow the way that his other has abandoned him. He just can’t fucking do it.

_I can’t do anything anymore_.

Gravel crunches loudly against the asphalt, so close that it snaps Eddie out of his maudlin thoughts. He jerks his head up, gripping tightly to the leash to try, however futilely, to keep his shadow under control. And freezes, overwhelmed by shocked disbelief.

_It can’t be. It can’t. He can’t be here. He’s gone. He’s_ gone _._

Gleaming crimson eyes meet his, so familiar despite how little he’s seen of them. “ **Hello, Father.** ”

Eddie opens his mouth, tries to force words through his constricted throat, and when none come, closes it and swallows thickly. _How is he here_?

Seemingly unperturbed by his silence, the symbiote child he’s come to call Sleeper crouches down in front of him. It takes the scent of hot coffee filling his nose for Eddie to glance down and see the cup held in the outstretched hand. He takes it automatically, numbly, and looks questioningly at his errant son.

“How—?” he begins hoarsely, before his voice breaks from disuse. He clears his throat, then takes a sip of the coffee. It’s hot, though not scalding, and when the first drop of it touches his tongue, he has to force himself not to greedily gulp the whole thing down.

“ **I could sense your hunger** ,” Sleeper responds, picking up Eddie’s conversational slack and pressing a takeout box made of thin cardboard into his empty hand. “ **I got this for you.** ”

Even without lifting the lid, Eddie can smell that it’s a burger. His stomach growls loudly enough for both of them to hear, but he doesn’t move to open it. He can’t. Because his son— _their_ son—reaches out and places a hand on top of his shadow’s head. Eddie watches with his heart in his throat, guilt and grief twisting in his chest until it hurts to breathe. His shadow doesn’t move, exhibits neither hostility nor recognition at the touch of its offspring.

After a silence that seems to drag on forever, Sleeper retracts the hand and murmurs regretfully, “ **I arrived too late**.”

“I’m sorry.” _I failed him. I failed you. I failed everyone I’ve ever loved._ “It’s my fault. I couldn’t—” Eddie’s voice breaks again. He sets the cup and the takeout container onto the ground with shaking hands, not wanting to accidentally crush the former or overturn the latter. “I tried. I tried to save him, son, but I couldn’t. I—”

Sleeper touches his shoulder and Eddie falls silent. Interrupted or encouraged by subtle chemical manipulation, he doesn’t know. Guesses that it doesn't really matter. “ **I felt him. God. Even on a distant world, I sensed his awakening. I came as quickly as I could**.”

_No._ Eddie shakes his head, viscerally rejecting that as soon as he hears it. “It wasn’t your fight.”

“ **And it was yours? My other parent’s?** ”

“Maybe not, but—”

“ **It is** _ **our**_ **fight** ,” Sleeper corrects him gently, with just enough emphasis on the word to make it clear that he means the Klyntar in general. “ **Yet I was not here. And my other parent has paid the price.** "

Eddie cannot abide that any more than he can entertain the notion of his son—the first of the symbiote's offspring that he helped to raise, the first that _they_ raised together — fighting against Knull and his dragon. "Because of _me_ . Because _I_ couldn't protect him. Because _I_ couldn't convince him to leave me."

It's impossible to guess what Sleeper knows, if he's making inferences from knowledge he's already gained elsewhere or if he's using some ability developed after he left Earth to skim the information directly from Eddie's brain. " **You did everything you could, Father. It isn't your fault.** "

_You're wrong. It's_ always _my fault._ True though it is, it's too self-pitying to voice and Eddie doesn't want to trespass on his son's grief by making it all about himself. He bites back the words, swallows them down like the bitterest of pills, and because he's a damn fool, asks the one thing he knows that he mustn't. "There's nothing you can do?"

He doesn't need to clarify the question. His son knows exactly what he means. " **No.** " Sadly, he shakes his head. " **I tried. There’s only silence.** "

It's the answer Eddie expects. It’s the one he _knows_ —in his mind, in his heart, in what passes for his soul. But it hurts to hear it anyway, a fresh crippling pain that makes him lower his eyes and stare blankly at his hands.

A moment later, a black, inhuman one covers both of his. " **All is not lost. The Hive may know what to do.** "

"I can't get there," Eddie whispers, without looking up. "I'm dying. I'll never make it."

He doesn't have a starship either, but that's such a trivial detail it isn't worth mentioning. There are plenty of people on Earth who possess the means to leave it. He could—he _would_ —steal one. To save his other, he would break into the Baxter Building itself, security measures be damned, and steal Richards' precious tech out from under his nose. Except he can barely hike across San Francisco, much less mount an assault on a highly fortified building and survive for the duration of interstellar travel.

Of course, he doesn't actually know where Klyntar _is_. Thompson, damn him to hell, did, but those memories are as lost to him as his other. He has no idea who else might know. Rex is dead. It's possible that the Guardians might, but he has no way to contact them and they probably wouldn't help him even if he did.

" **I can.** "

Eddie looks up sharply. "You know how to find Klyntar?"

" **Yes. The mind in this body knows the location of many planets. Including that of my other parent**."

_Guess old Tel-Kar is good for something after all._ The brief surge of hope dies almost as fast as it's born. "I don't think I'll live long enough for you to return. The cancer, it's back and..." It's aggressive, more than he remembers it being the first time.

He frowns, debating the truth of the words he's about to say before he'll let himself voice them. Once upon a time, in the days after their separation, it would have been unthinkable. Back then, he'd tried so hard to rid the world of the symbiotes and the danger they posed. And after the time he spent as Anti-Venom and Toxin was behind him, he had done everything he could to prevent other people from getting hold of his other. But now, though it pains him to think about willingly giving it to someone else, he knows he wouldn't condemn it to share his death.

Not if it was within his power to save it. Not if it was causing no harm to innocents.

The admission leaves him slowly, like he's carving it out of his bones. "I can't trust anyone to take care of it after my death."

The obvious choice, the one that he most resents, is dead. And while Parker has finally proven himself capable of caring for his other, Eddie doesn't trust him enough for that. He has no real allies. And the rest of his other's former hosts are unreliable at best and downright malicious at worst.

He searches his son's eyes. "Unless..." It had worked with Rex. "Could you...?"

" **This body is no true host. It would not support two of us.** "

_So much for that_. Dejected though it makes him feel, Eddie can't pretend that he's surprised. It would've been too neat, too easy a solution, and nothing's ever been that neat or easy for him.

Not for his other, either, truth be told.

A squeeze to his hands brings him out of his rapidly darkening thoughts. " **Eat, Father. When you're finished, I'll do what I can to help.** "

Eddie shakes his head helplessly. "I don't understand."

Letting him go, Sleeper picks up the takeout box and presses it back into Eddie's hands. They regard each other for a moment, weary confusion butting against calm determination, before Eddie capitulates. He flips open the cardboard lid, withdraws the sandwich, and takes a bite. Maybe it's because he's starving, or because he's running out of time, but as the taste of it bursts over his tongue—juicy meat, crisp tomatoes, sharp cheese, the spicy-smooth-pungent combination of ketchup, mustard, and mayo—he thinks it may be the best burger he's ever eaten. Not to devour the thing outright is a battle he barely wins.

_Slow down, Brock_ . He forces himself to take a small bite and chew it thoroughly. _You don't know when you'll get another meal._ When. If. The reality is, it could go either way.

Eating in front of an audience is a bit awkward, though he's hungry enough that he doesn't feel more than a little self-conscious about it. And it helps that his son isn't watching him while he does it. Instead, Sleeper touches his shadow again and closes his luminous eyes. Eddie squashes the traitorous stirring of hope and tries not to stare.

If Christmas miracles exist outside of fiction, he knows damn well that they aren't going to happen to him.

Even pacing himself, Eddie gets through the burger fairly quickly. After he swallows the last bite, he licks the condiment smears from his fingers and brushes his palm over his beard. In the absence of a napkin, it's the best he can do. Sleeper doesn't look up from what appears to be an odd attempt at communion and Eddie, not wanting to interrupt, picks up the coffee. It's cooler now, easier to drink, and thirst is a harsher master than hunger. Despite his best effort to savor it and make it last, he drains the cup far too fast.

As he sets it down, Sleeper’s eyes open and although it’s difficult to read his expression, somehow, Eddie knows what’s coming before he says a word. “ **Make yourself comfortable.** ”

“I...” It’s weak and needy and Eddie knows he’s better than this. But he’s cold and sick and too lonely to care about how badly it reflects on him. “I was hoping you’d stay. Just a little while. It’s been so long.”

The inscrutable expression doesn’t change, but Eddie can still sense his understanding. Perhaps even a hint of compassion. “ **Time is of the essence. We will have more of it when I return.** ”

This too is a form of compassion, Eddie knows. Sleeper could render him unconscious in the blink of an eye and be on his way before his body finished slumping to the ground. But instead, he’s talking to him, leading him into it gently with his version of goodbye. The least Eddie can do is make it easy for him.

Nodding, he leans back against the wall, wedging himself into the corner in the hope that he’ll stay upright when he drifts off, and tries to get as comfortable as he can without a pillow or a blanket. His shadow shifts closer, curling up against his hip.

“Be careful out there.” Eddie’s well aware that it’s a stupid thing to say. Sleeper’s done just fine without his lackluster attempts at parenting. But he says it anyway, part superstitious talisman against the dangers that lurk in the darkness of space and part stubborn paternal instinct. “The universe is a dangerous place.”

The confident, sharp-fanged grin that splits his face is so eerily similar to Eddie’s other that it makes his heart ache. “ **I am one of those dangers, Father** . **The universe needs to be careful of** _**me** _ **.** ”

_You’d be proud of him. I know you would._ Eddie thinks to say it out loud, not sure if a symbiote will find comfort in such a human sentiment yet wanting to offer it just the same, but his throat constricts too tightly to get the words out.

Maybe he understands them anyway. He lays a hand on Eddie’s forearm. “ **Close your eyes.** ”

The command is impossible to resist. Eddie’s eyes grow so heavy that they burn, and even though he knows that it's the product of Sleeper’s abilities, he can’t muster up the strength to fight it. Tension seeps out of his muscles as his eyes close, the aches and pains of his body fading into the darkness that’s rising to swallow him. There’s so much that he ought to be saying to his son, so many things he may never get another chance to tell him. But it’s too late, his thoughts and awareness unraveling even as he tries to weave it all back together.

A voice, growing ever more distant, filters down to him in his last moments of consciousness. " **I'll see you again.** "

* * *

Eddie wakes in gradual increments. Birdsong and the whispery rush of traffic reaches him first. Chilly air drifting over his skin comes next. A gentle nudge against his thigh follows, drawing him the rest of the way up out of the dark.

He opens his eyes to mid-morning light shining down between the buildings and glowing at the end of the alley. He's slumped over in the corner behind the dumpster, his shadow lying at his side. Gingerly, he straightens up, bracing for an aching neck and his body's unending litany of complaints.

None of it ever comes.

The muscles that ought to be stiff move smoothly, like he's spent the night on a comfortable mattress instead of on the street. The constriction in his chest and the cough that's been plaguing him is absent. He takes a shallow, cautious breath, and when that doesn't aggravate his lungs, he takes a chance on another, deeper one and is surprised to find that it too flows easily. For the first time in days, he licks his lips and tastes nothing but stale coffee and the faintest tang of mustard. His stomach doesn't rumble or cramp with hunger.

He feels...

_Better_ , he decides. Not _well_. He knows that he hasn't been miraculously healed in the night. But for a moment, he no longer feels like he's inches from death's door. Even the crushing weight of grief and loss is muted. He's still aware of it, like a tidal wave towering above him about to break, but it doesn't crash down and envelope him. It will, of course. It's just a matter of time.

For the moment, however, he realizes that he’s been granted a reprieve. A small, artificially created kind of peace.

Eddie reaches out and runs his fingers over the top of his shadow's head, stroking them through the fur. His gaze drifts sideways, comes to rest on an empty takeout box and a small paper cup. _Definitely not a dream._ The corner of his lips tick upward for a fraction of a second. Not a real smile, but the closest thing to one since that old blast furnace burned his life to ash.

_Maybe even guys like me get a miracle in the end._


End file.
